


Follow the Heron Home

by DancingLassie



Series: Rivers Run [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Genius Loci, He has a whole family of River gods, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier is a river god, M/M, Protective Family, River gods, River gods AU, Trava is a good brother, Will make no sense if not read first story, genii locorum, inspired by Rivers of London
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 08:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23968564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingLassie/pseuds/DancingLassie
Summary: Having rescued Jaskier's druid, Trava takes a moment to look in on Geralt who lies unconscious in his guest room.  Finally, he has a chance to sit down and consider the witcher who won and then crushed his baby brother's heart.  With no one awake to observe him, he allows himself to take a small trip down memory lane.Life, he thinks, was a lot simpler before Jaskier was allowed out into the world unsupervised.A look at what went through Trava's head between chapters 10 and 11 ofKingdoms Come and Kingdoms Go, Rivers Run and Rivers Flow.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Trava, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Trava
Series: Rivers Run [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723825
Comments: 78
Kudos: 1073
Collections: Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	Follow the Heron Home

**Author's Note:**

> So, it may not come as a big surprise that Trava was my favourite of Jaskier's siblings (though I do love them all) and I've wanted to write something from his point of view since Chapter 5. Small warning, if you've not read the first part of this series then this will make absolutely no sense!
> 
> Huge thanks to [Willowherb](https://willowherbgardens.tumblr.com/) for beta reading this fic!

The witcher lies sleeping on his back, mouth slightly open and dead to the world. Ina has warned Trava that the man would likely sleep for the next day or so. It’s a good thing she had, because Trava has never seen Geralt so unalert. It’s downright creepy.

His brother’s druid is resting a few rooms down from the witcher’s and Trava’s joints creak as he lowers himself into the chair next to the witcher’s bed. 

It’s not often that he feels every one of his many years, but ever since his little brother came on the scene, the sensation’s been becoming a familiar one. He likes to joke with Ina on occasion about how much more peaceful life was without Jaskier, but she just snorts at him.

“You wouldn’t be without him. You enjoy the chaos that little monster creates.”

Which is true, for the most part.

Each and every one of his siblings is a blessing he would not be without, but Jaskier has always held an extra special place in his heart. Trava remembers with perfect clarity the moment he had felt his little brother come into existence. 

He’d woken from a self-indulgent nap with a jolt of instant recognition. He _knew_ he had a new sibling. The sky was blue, water was wet, and some poor sod had just died a horrible death and come back irreversibly changed.

Trava remembered all too well when it had been him. When his son, Johan, had been fooling about on his father’s boat and it had capsized, he hadn’t wasted a second thought before diving into the Trava after him. It had been stormy for three days and his son should not have been out on the boat, but he’d been young and stupid and had ignored his parents’ warnings.

Johan, with his father’s help, had made it safely back to the bank. Trava had not, and he has never been able to forget the burning in his lungs and the all-encompassing panic as he fought desperately to make it to the surface for air. 

He’d woken up in Mama’s house, knowing that he was no longer human but desperate to get back to his wife and son. Pretend, none of this had ever happened. Mama had let him go, understanding more than he possibly could that he’d be back. He had no choice.

For ten years he’d ignored the reality of his predicament, living his life as though nothing had happened. It couldn’t last. Not when Yenna, the love of his life, had started getting older. Grey hair crept into her long blonde locks and crows’ feet took up residence at the corners of her eyes. Johan had grown, becoming a strapping young man any father could be proud of. Eoin, as Trava had been known then, did not change. When his son looked as old as he did, he’d no longer been able to deny what he’d become or his strange connection with the local river.

He’d run straight back to Mama’s and hidden in her house, away from the entire world. It had just been Mama, Vda and Adalette back then. He was Mama’s only son (he did not know about his dead brother, the first Pankratz, until much later) and first human child.

He had felt like an outsider with them as well. His mother and sisters had tried to help him, to make him feel welcome but it had been so difficult. He was too different from both his human family _and_ this strange supernatural one. He instinctively loved both but belonged fully to neither. He’d taken the coward’s way out and run from his new family too.

For three years he had wandered the Continent. Wherever he went, he’d been instinctively drawn to running water. Slowly, on his own, he had discovered the full extent of his powers, but he had been so lonely.

He’d returned, shamefaced, to his wife, ready to beg for forgiveness. He would swear himself to her until the end. He would find a way for her and their son to join him in his river. They would share in this strange gift and live happily forever.

A fool’s dream. He had been a year too late. Plague had carried off Yenna, Johan and a little granddaughter he hadn’t even known about. No grave marker for any of them. They’d been dumped in a mass pit and left for the necrophages to devour. 

He’d screamed his grief to the sky, scaring the villagers nearby as he thrashed around wildly. He’d been a mad man as he stumbled and threw himself into the river.

He had wanted it to drown him again. To carry him back to his family. 

In a way it had. He had woken, once again, in Mama’s house, with the goddess of the Yaruga sitting patiently next to his bed. She’d cradled him through his tears and shed a few of her own for his obvious pain.

He’d lived with her for ten years after that, fully becoming her son. When he had ventured back into the world, he had stuck close to his own river for decades.

So he knew how hard transitioning from mortal to god could be. Ina, for all her competence and briskness now, had been a wreck for the first century of her godly life. Etta, in comparison, had taken to it like a duck to water. She’d barely spent a week at Mama’s before getting up and starting a peasant revolt to revenge herself on her murderous husband.

Trava had been rather proud of her.

When Jaskier had been gifted to them Trava had entered Mama’s house expecting some poor confused man or woman to be sobbing their eyes out, trying to explain why they had to get back home. He had not expected a baby.

Mama had beamed at him from her chair, bundle clutched to her breast. Trava hadn’t kept her attention for long. As he’d stared in gobsmacked silence, the baby had let out a little gurgle and kicked its tiny feet, drawing Mama’s attention back to it.

Mama’s face had been soft as she gazed down at her prize, and her lips had formed into a silly pout as she cooed at the baby wrapped in one of her best shawls.

Trava had moved towards them and come round the back of the chair, so he could look over Mama’s shoulder and down at the bundle.

There had been no mistaking the blue eyes that stared up at him from the depths of the shawl. They were Yaruga eyes. This tiny, vulnerable creature was his new sibling. How had this happened?

“Mama?” he choked.

“Isn’t he _beautiful_ ,” Mama had gushed. Trava couldn’t see it. He had looked like any other newborn baby. Pink and wrinkly and not that pleasing on the eye (apart from Johan, he had been the exception).

“Who is he?” Trava had asked, for lack of a better question. He’d been unable to wrap his head round the idea of this infant holding enough power in his tiny, grasping fist to drown a country.

“Pankratz,” Mama had warbled to the baby rather than turning to answer him. “Something Pankratz. Oh, he’ll need a first name. I never got to give any of you first names!”

For good reason. Eoin had been given to him by his mortal parents. He and most of his siblings may not choose to use their ‘before’ names any longer, but they had them. This small, nameless child had never even been given that. 

“Jaskier,” Mama had announced triumphantly, breaking Trava out of his spiraling dark thoughts. “This is your new brother, Jaskier Pankratz.”

Trava had reached out a slightly shaking finger and ran it down the soft cheek of his little brother. “Jaskier is it? Well, it’s about time I got a brother. I told Mama if she brought home another sister, I was running away.”

Jaskier had shifted his face slightly, small lips opening and closing against Trava’s skin. He’d have loved to hold his new brother, but one look at Mama told him she wasn’t going to release her new son anytime soon.

He’d settled down on his knees next to her chair, which had allowed him to stroke his brother’s small tuft of hair more comfortably as they had waited for the others to arrive.

Trava sighs at the memory.

“He was so cute,” he tells the unconscious Geralt. “According to Mama, he still is. He’s her baby. Her _literal_ baby. I think she’d always wanted a child to raise from infancy. The rest of us came to her when we were much older. We had other families that we remembered. Jaskier is unique amongst us; he’s only ever known this.

“Do you think that’s why he’s so restless? Why he loves humans so much? Why he decided to follow a gods-damned witcher across the Continent?”

He eyes the witcher critically. He still doesn’t get it. Trava has never had any romantic or sexual leanings towards his own sex, but he likes to think he can still recognise the attraction of his fellow men.

Aesthetically, he supposes Geralt is handsome. He has that rugged, competent, mean look about him that he’s seen Etta and Adalette sigh over. But he’s so quiet and taciturn! How did he end up gaining the love of his exuberant, flamboyant, talkative, extroverted and over-the-top little brother?

He had hoped, initially, that it had just been a phase. Jaskier had been young when he first met Geralt, only eighteen. Plenty of people had ill advised crushes at that age, but Jaskier’s affections for the witcher had never wavered, only grown stronger.

When he waxes poetic about Geralt, it reminds Trava of his own love for Yenna. But Yenna would have never crushed his heart the way Geralt had crushed Jaskier’s.

_No,_ a snide little voice in the back of his mind tells him. _You just crushed hers. Ran away and never came back._

Trava clenches a fist as tears spring to his eyes in shame. Anger, shame, regret and sadness. Familiar bedfellows, those four. 

“You fucked up,” he tells Geralt. “But we all do at some point. You just need to fix it while you still have a chance. Don’t take too long. Don’t be me.”

There’s a knock on the door and he raises his voice to tell the visitor to enter.

It’s Vda.

“The princess is safe with Etta,” his dryad sister tells him in her matter-of-fact way. “I escorted her to Etta’s barge myself.”

He nods his thanks. Etta will look after the little princess now. She won’t let anything bad happen to Ciri before she makes it to Jaskier. His little brother will get the daughter he’s wanted. Hopefully, it will cheer him the fuck up. Visiting him in Lettenhove has been downright depressing, despite the menagerie he seems to be acquiring. 

To his surprise, Vda doesn’t leave immediately. She’s not one for hanging around, usually returning to Brokilon forest at the first opportunity.

“He helps the dryads sometimes,” she gestures to Geralt. “He’s fair to them. Doesn’t treat them like monsters. I’ve always thought him a good man.”

Trava waits. There’s no point in trying to rush Vda. She will say what she wants to say at her own pace. It drives Etta insane.

“I still think I’d like to punch him though.”

Trava laughs. “I’ve beaten you to it! He took it with good grace. He knew he’d earned it. Kind of took the fun out of it.”

Vda purses her lips. “It will do for now,” she eventually decides. 

“Well, I heard he had to endure one of Ina’s lectures if that makes you feel any better?”

A small smile curls her lips upwards; it’s a rare sight. “It does.”

She makes to leave but pauses as she reaches the door. “I would hurt anyone who hurt any of my family.”

Trava nods. He knows, but it’s still good to hear her say it. The pressure of the last few weeks has been getting to all of the River gods. Wars are not new to any of them (except Jaskier) but never in Trava’s lifetime has there been such an attack by the mouth of the Yaruga as the massacre of Cintra.

It’s shocked them all, and Mama has been in hysterics as her waters run red with the blood of innocents. She won’t leave her house, one of the few mysteriously not burned to the ground as the city was sacked. Trava knows he’s going to have to convince her to move further inland by Beltane though. There is no way Jaskier can waltz back into Nilfgaardian occupied Cintra for the annual get-together.

The Nilfgaardians would not survive it.

“He’s feral,” he tells the witcher. “Hurt someone he cares about, and he’ll attack. Won’t stop to think about the consequences until later.

“Me, I hear you ask. Well, I like a plan.”

He did. He’d been a soldier in his mortal life. Not out of any sort of patriotism, but it had been steady work. There was always some skirmish or other where he was needed, and he was good at planning raids. His superiors had quickly recognised his abilities and he had been promoted accordingly.

“Your witch,” and he can’t help his lips drawing back in a snarl. “She didn’t like my vengeance much. Etta was just going to kill her. Hold her head down in Jaskier’s river and let her life pay homage to him, but Adalette said that would draw too much attention to us. Too many sorcerers would take an interest.

“So we couldn’t kill her but I needed to make sure she _suffered_.”

He hopes she’s still suffering. He will never forgive her for what she did. _Never._ His brother’s broken, damaged form still haunts his nightmares.

It hadn’t been like when one of his siblings was created. He hadn’t instantly known what had happened. Instead he’d felt a lingering unease that had refused to dissipate.

And then Mama’s grief had crashed over him suddenly, like a tsunami. Vala, Lisbeth, and Arlene had been forced to support him as he fell to his knees in the street. He’d been unable to make sense of the world around him, lost to the connection he had to the water of his river, and through that to Mama and his siblings.

Mama’s emotions had threatened to drown out everything else, but slowly, very slowly, he’d managed to push them aside to check on the rest of his family.

Worry had been the main feeling, and confusion, with Adalette, Vda, Ina and Etta all coming through clear. Only Jaskier had been missing.

He couldn’t _feel_ Jaskier. Where was his brother?

Trava thanks Mama every day for the triplets. He’s had several acolytes in the past, but none so efficient and effective as Vala, Lisbeth and Arlene. He _adores_ them.

They had dragged his heavy, unresponsive body to the river and dumped him into the water. Correctly guessing what he needed.

In the water, it had been much easier to follow the connection he had to his brother, even as he’d let the current carry him swiftly downstream to its junction with the Yaruga and from there to Cintra.

Jaskier’s presence, normally so warm and filled with good humour when Trava searched for it, had flickered feebly at the edge of his consciousness. Like a candle flame in danger of being snuffed out by a careless breath.

Trava had hauled himself from the Yaruga, uncaring of the dockworkers who saw him, and sprinted into Mama’s house.

Irina had been waiting for him, sobbing. Ina had arrived before him and was trembling as she clung to the brothel madam.

“Ina,” he’d barked. “What’s happening?”

She had shaken her head, unable to speak. Her bottom lip had wobbled, and then solid, dependable Ina had burst into tears.

Trava had found himself on the floor, holding tightly to both women. He’d wanted to be sick, but there was a lump in his throat that blocked everything. He’d felt himself starting to fall apart.

Clutching Ina and Irina more tightly, he’d reminded himself why he couldn’t. He’d hauled them up and through to the sitting room. It had been as he was propping Irina up on some pillows that Etta had burst in and the hysterics had really started.

“I can’t feel Jaskier! Why can’t I feel Jaskier? What’s happened? Is he dead? Who killed my brother? Trava, what’s happened? TRAVA!”

Ina had let out a low, pained moan. Slumped over her knees as she gasped for breath.

Luckily, Vda and Adalette had arrived before Trava did something he would later regret, like slap his sister.

Adalette had taken one look at Etta, and forced her down onto a chair, murmuring quietly to her until she shut up.

Vda had stood to the side, silent, brow pinched with worry. It’d soon become clear that Mama was not going to be making an appearance, and that was worrying in itself. Where was she?

“Irina,” Trava had crouched down next to the woman, stroking her hand with his thumb in what he’d hoped was a comforting manner. “Where’s Mama?”

Irina had let out a truly tremendous sniff as she visibly tried to pull herself together.

“I’m not sure what happened, but she went as white as a sheet and ran out of the room. She went down to the basement. Said she needed to go to Jaskier.”

The basement contained a gate that led to the sewers which fed directly into the Yaruga. Given Mama’s inability to walk out of her own home without causing an impromptu procession through the streets, it was her preferred method for accessing her river.

Wherever Jaskier was, Mama was on her way.

Trava had nodded his thanks and surveyed the motley crew before him. 

“Ina,” he had decided. She could move more easily among humans than Adalette or Vda, and she would appreciate having something useful to do more than Etta, who would quite happily indulge in hysteria for as long as she was allowed. 

“Jaskier was heading to the Pontar, so Mama’ll no doubt be heading there herself. Go after her and find out what’s happened. 

She had nodded, visibly pulling herself together, before sweeping out.

“Etta, you can weep later. It’s up to you, me, Vda and Adalette to keep things running smoothly here until Mama gets back. Irina, can you take care of the house?”

It had taken two weeks for Ina to get back to them. She hadn’t been content to simply catch up with Mama and find out what she and Old Father Pontar knew. She’d gone to the place where Jaskier had been dropped in the river and done her own investigation.

She’d scared one poor elven healer out of his wits, but by the end of her interrogation she had a name. Yennefer.

That had been a fun brainstorming session. They had holed up in Trava’s house, shouting ideas and arguments at each other. Etta and Vda had been on the ‘hunt the witch down and kill her’ wagon, but Adalette had argued for more planning and caution. She had won by pointing out that death would be far too quick a punishment. 

It was Lisbeth who had given Trava the bath idea. The vainest of the triplets, she had joked about it one night, trying to cheer him up as he’d cried in her arms.

Despite organising that particularly satisfying form of vengeance, Trava had still felt useless. Which was why, when he’d heard his brother was finally well enough to be transported back to Cintra, he’d decided to track down Jaskier’s witcher.

It had been his penance. He had been the one to send Jaskier back to his witcher’s side, filled with hope for a deeper relationship. He had been the one to mock his little brother through their hangovers right before Jaskier left. If he’d convinced Jaskier to stay a little longer, none of this would have happened.

“I think I knew you loved him before you did,” he discloses to his captive audience. “You’re a bit dense about some things. 

“You looked wretched when I came to see you. Completely miserable. Then when I gave you the tiny snippet of information I had, it was like you could finally relax. He was going to live; you could rest now.

“That’s when I knew I liked you.” He chuckles. “That and you were always willing to help me poke fun at my baby brother.”

Trava had subsequently shared many drinks with Geralt over the years. Usually, Jaskier had made a point of sitting between them. His little brother didn’t trust them together. It was cute.

Normally, they had talked pointedly over Jaskier’s head, ignoring his indignant and increasingly loud objections. His brother had resented having the witcher’s attention drawn away from him by someone else. Trava had worked hard to make Geralt smile at him just to wind Jaskier up.

“I think you used to laugh at my jokes just to tease my brother. I respected that. He needs someone willing to put him in his place. Otherwise his ego will smother us all. Jaskier is a talented wordsmith and musician, but humble and modest he is not. If he weren’t a god, it’d get him into such trouble. He’d be run out of so many towns for opening his mouth.

“Mind you, I think even without his powers people would listen to him. He definitely has charisma.”

His mind turns back to Geralt’s accusations. His brother hadn’t deserved them.

Trava shakes his head, dispelling the morose thoughts before he’s tempted to give the injured and unconscious man a kick.

“Grovel, Geralt. I expect you to grovel. He’ll take you back, no matter what the rest of us think. That’s what’s important. The family will all come round in time if you can persuade him to forgive you. You’ve somehow convinced Mama to give you one more chance.”

The witcher frowns in his sleep, lines marring his forehead and he lets out a small whimper.

Trava hums quietly and it appears to soothe Geralt somewhat. He obviously associates songs with safety. It’s what happens when you choose a bard as your life partner. 

Trava likes to credit himself with his brother’s interest in music and storytelling. He’s the one who’d often put his brother to bed as a child and he’d hop in beside Jaskier, before telling him adventure stories and singing songs until he fell asleep. This had often taken some time. Jaskier had liked to correct Trava on the story at every opportunity. ‘Improving it’ the cheeky brat had told him.

Trava had once told Jaskier that he should thank him for his inspiration. Jaskier had laughed in his face and told him he couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, but the bard would be sure to thank his Oxenfurt teachers for showing him how music was _meant_ to sound.

Trava still insists that his singing isn’t that bad. Vala, Lisbeth and Arlene refuse to comment. He finds himself singing softly to the sleeping witcher.

_‘The back of the winter is broken,_

_And light lingers long by the door._

_And the seeds of the summer have spoken,_

_In gowans that bloom on the shore._

_‘By night and day we'll sport and we'll play,_

_And delight as the dawn dances over the bay._

_Sleep blows the breath of the morning away,_

_And we follow the heron home.’_

Geralt drifts back into a much more peaceful slumber, proving that Jaskier and the triplets just don’t have the sophistication required to appreciate Trava’s musical talents.

He stretches in his chair. He’s been sitting for too long and his muscles are beginning to seize up. He still has so much to do. He needs to go check on Irina and report to his mother. He should make sure the druid, Mousesack, is doing alright as well. At some point he needs to get up to Lettenhove and make sure his little brother knows just how much he _owes_ him.

Well, not really. Trava would go through all this and more if it made any of his family happy.

It’s a fair trade though. They’d do the same for him.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this wee story. I can confirm that I'm working on a larger sequel focusing on Geralt, Jaskier and Ciri's stay at Kaer Morhen. I just need to work out how I'm structuring the story before I post the first chapter.
> 
> I stuck with Karine Polwart for the [songs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-6zAg9IIgKo) (because she's amazing).
> 
> Hope everyone is keeping well and staying safe. If you fancy saying hello then you can find me on [tumblr!](https://dancinglassie.tumblr.com)


End file.
